Engrossing
by The Moon on a String
Summary: It was just a book. Jack was not ignoring him. Let the child finish the book and everything will go back to normal. But no, Pitch could not - would not - let it go. He was being ignored. And he hated it. How dare Jack find a novel to be more interesting than he was? He was the Bogeyman after all, far more scarier than fictional monster novels.


**Author's Notes:** Hello there. I have yet another story. This one shows Pitch's side of the relationship which I don't write about as much. He is so worried about being alone again they he'll jump to insane conclusions and do something foolish. I hope you enjoy. Now I have to get some sleep. It's late and I have school tomorrow. Enjoy! Also, sorry for any mistakes.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, nothing at all. Stephen King owns _It_ and himself I guess.

**Rating:** T for slight sexual themes and abuse

**Summary: **It was just a book. Jack was not ignoring him. Let the child finish the book and everything will go back to normal. But no, Pitch could not - would not - let it go. He was being ignored. And he hated it. How dare Jack find a novel to be more interesting than he was? He was the Bogeyman after all, far more scarier than fictional monster novels.

* * *

**Engrossing**

"Jack?"

All that responded was a faint echo and then silence as the Nightmare King ghosted along the dark and lonesome stairs and paths, slanting this way and that. Pitch frowned. He'd searched all over his lair for Jack. Was he still not back yet? He had been gone for a while now. Had something happened? No, of course not; he was just over reacting. As usual. Jack was probably just too caught up with the weather. Still, Pitch hoped he would return soon. He didn't like admitting it aloud but he missed the boy dearly, even when he was gone for the shortest amount of time. He _needed _Jack to be with him.

It was foolish he knew; his obsession with Jack would be his undoing.

Just as these thoughts were passing through his troubled mind, he walked straight into something. Or rather, something walked into him.

And that something had his nose buried in a book, staff tucked under his arm, barely registering that he had crashed into Pitch. "Jack?" the older man tried to engage his attention.

Jack dragged his eyes away from is novel, meeting Pitch's gaze. "Hey there." He grinned.

"Where have you been?" Pitch asked.

"Well, I was passing through New York and I found this novel in this fancy bookstore. I had always wanted to read it." Jack looked a little ashamed. "So I, uh, took it."

Pitch chuckled. "You stole a book?"

Jack bit his lip. "I'd prefer to call it borrowing for an extended period." He defended. "Besides, I wanted to read it so badly."

"What book is it?" Pitch tried to take the book from him but Jack pulled it out of his reach. His eyes, he drew back and waited for Jack to tell him.

"Stephen King's_ It_." Jack replied. "Personally signed by him too." He opened to the first page of the hardcover novel, revealing the author's signature.

"Ah, _It_." The Bogeyman leered. "What a delightful book that was."

"Are you kidding? It's terrifying and I'm only a third of the way through." The teen closed the book and held it to his chest. "That's why I was gone for so long. I got caught up reading it."

Pitch rolled his eyes. "I'm guessing you didn't do your job properly then." He shook his head. "Mother Nature certainly will not be impressed, snowflake. You don't want your powers to be revoked again, do you?"

Another guilty look flashed over Jack's face. "Yeah, well... I'll go out later and you know, do it properly." He promised. "Just after I finish a few more chapters."

"The biggest lie of a book reader. A few more chapters are never enough." Pitch said wryly. "I personally know that for a fact."

Jack smiled. "I will get around to the weather eventually." He looked thoughtful. "Until then, do you mind if I sit in your library and read?"

"Not at all."

Jack broke out into a big grin. "Thank you, lover." He wrapped an arm around Pitch's middle. "You're the best."

Pitch returned the embrace. "I am, aren't I?" He said smugly.

"Don't let it get to your ego." Jack muttered.

Pitch chuckled, holding the winter spirit tighter. Jack wriggled out of his arms. Reaching up, he gave the Nightmare King a chaste kiss before heading off to the library.

Pitch watched him dawdled along, already opening the book again. He didn't know Jack enjoyed the horror genre. He'd never seen the teen so engrossed in a novel – and he did read a lot of novels. Pitch knew he wouldn't put it down. Idly, he wondered if Jack would return the book after he'd finished it. He didn't seem too guilty about stealing it but they may have just been the excitement.

He rolled his eyes. Of course Jack would get upset about stealing it. After he did anything immoral, he would get worked up about it, fretting about what a terrible person he was. He never seemed to process that, as the Bogeyman, Pitch didn't really care that he did something 'dreadful'_. _In fact, he would be proud, at least until Jack began to fuss over it. Then, Pitch had comfort him until he got over it. That boy still had the heart of a Guardian though he tried to hide it. Oh, how badly he tried to hide it from Pitch, his master. No, he certainly didn't want to upset Pitch like that. So maybe he'd just keep the novel, even if he so badly wanted to return it.

Oh well, if Jack wanted to return the novel, so be it. It was just a book. Pitch decided not to dwell on it and continued to glide along the haunting paths once more. It really was just a book, right?

* * *

He noticed the silence. It didn't feel right. With Jack around, there wasn't ever a silent moment unless he was sleeping. And even then, he still spoke in his sleep. After spending so long in silence – goings _years_ without hearing a sound, not even a peep from his Fearlings – he was so glad to have his days filled with the teen's chatter and laughter and even the sobs and screams.

Now it was silent again. And he loathed it. It was almost as if Jack weren't there. That made his heart clench and his mind race with thoughts. It was as if he were all alone again. No. No, he wasn't. Jack was still there, reading in his library. He could _feel _him. He could _feel_ the small spikes of fear radiating down each time the child got up to a good part. Oh yes, it was a good book. And it was getting on Pitch's nerves. Jack was getting so worked up over a book – a very good book – but it was still just a book. Jack hated it when Pitch didn't pay attention to him so how dare he go and ignore him? The Bogeyman growled. Of course there was no one to answer him.

He sat on his throne and felt very, very bored. He could go up and visit Jack – or rather demand for the winter spirit to put the nook away and spent time with him – but he just was not in the mood. The Fearlings dipped down curiously, wondering why their Master was so irate. _You said it yourself, _they sung lowly, _it is a good book. You and Jack have the same tastes._ He scoffed. Hardly. He read it for the author's exquisite writing; Jack read it for the thrill and excitement that came with reading it. It was ridiculous. Did he find this novel to be more frightening that the Nightmare King himself? No. He was being foolish. He knew Jack was terrified of him – or rather his black moods – and this book was just a faze, really. Soon the child will have finished it and he'll probably feel guilty about stealing it. So then he'd return it and go back to his lover, then they'd just more or less forget about it. Yes, that's exactly what Pitch expected to happen.

As these thoughts stirred through his mind, Jack jumped down from the light levels. He didn't have his book with him; just his staff and his black cloak – the one that Pitch wanted him to wear though he so often refused to. "Where are you going, pet?" Pitch asked, relieved to see the child and sat up straight.

Jack hadn't noticed the older man and jumped a mile high. Pitch couldn't help but feel his ego swell with pleasure at being able to scare Jack after the time they'd been together. "Oh! Hey, Pitch." The small burst of fear with washed away with Jack's bright smile. "I was, well, I was reading and... you know..."

"You got up to a frightening part of the novel, didn't you?" The Bogeyman guessed, rising. Jack shifted uncomfortably, nodding. Pitch let out a dark chuckle. "I knew that book would scare you." He drifted over to where Jack was standing. "Are you alright?"

The teen made a face. "It's going to give me nightmares." He admitted.

"You already have nightmares."

"Well, more than usual then." Jack huffed.

Pitch rolled his eyes. "That's not going to stop you from reading it, is it?" He couldn't help but feel hopeful at the thought of Jack being too scared to finish the novel.

Jack shook his head. "No way." Of course not. Stubborn child. "Even if it is... scary, it's still a great book." He shrugged. "I'll get over it."

"I'm sure you will." Pitch hummed, unable to help feeling disgruntled. "Where are you going now?"

"Where do you think?" Jack asked sarcastically. That earned him a harsh, scolding glare. "Uh, sorry." He cleared his nervously, noticing his lover's darkening mood. "I'm just going out to fix up the weather. Got some chills to spread 'round."

Pitch couldn't help but smile a little. "I'm glad you've decided to be responsible."

"Pfft, I'm always responsible." Jack grinned cockily.

"Right and that's why you still a Guardian."

The grin quickly fell from Jack's lips and was replaced with a furrowed brow and glassy eyes that showed nothing but sickening heartbreak. Pitch wasn't quite sure why he said it. Maybe because he was just irritated or maybe because he wanted to wipe that arrogant look of the teen's face. But he began to regret it. It was quite cruel of him to even mention anything about being a Guardian to Jack. The Bogeyman was the reason he became one in the first place and the reason the name was eventually stripped from him. Yes, it was cruel but then again, he was a cruel man. A man who had just about had it with Jack and his book and supposed that with was a way of punishing him. Punishment for what though? For ignoring him? For believing the monster in that book was more horrific than he was? Or purely and simply for enjoying something that did not entirely interest him? He could easily control the child like a puppet – at least, he liked to believe he could. But the truth was, Jack was far too much of a free spirit and as much as Pitch had tried to break him down previously, Jack would eventually just brush it off and smile again. Always smile.

Maybe that was why he regretted saying that he did. Jack should be smiling; he had no reason to frown. No nightmares at that moment, to memories weighing him down, he was in a happy mood. Until now. Pitch sighed heavily. He was putting way too much thought into this. Punishment was not needed for Jack had not done anything wrong. Yet. "I'm sorry, pet; I really should not have brought that up." He said stiffly.

Jack shrugged, blinking a few times to stop any tears from welling up. "It's fine." He meant it, honestly. He wasn't going to let Pitch drag his good mood down. "Uh, I'll see you later?"

The older man nodded curtly. "Of course. Goodbye, little snowflake." He gave Jack a small peck on the forehead.

Jack latched his arms around the older man tightly. He buried his face into Pitch's warm chest and didn't move. Pitch slowly brought his arms around Jack's tiny waist and held him close, as close as he could with crushing him. Most of their partings were like this. They would hold not each other firmly as if they wouldn't see one another again. But they'd both been alone for long enough to it wasn't something to take for granted. So the strong embrace was a silent promise. A promise that it was not a permanent parting; they would be reunited shortly. If it were between anyone else, it would have been romantic. But because it was between these two trouble and hauntingly tormented spirits, it was desperate and fervent and odious but anything but romantic. There was nothing romantic of the sickening and repulsive fear of being _alone_ again.

After what felt like hours but could have only been minutes, Jack reluctantly pulled back. Pitch held him tighter for a heartbeat before lowering his arms so Jack could step back. The teen offered a quick smile and murmured something that sound like "I'll be back soon," before darting off. Pitch hoped he would, he really did.

* * *

It was eating away him. When would Jack get back? Soon? He said he'd be back soon. Pitch paced back and forth around his Globe, ignoring the abhorrent lights that shone so brightly – so brightly – and gave the lair a glow that seemed too beautiful. It made the cages – or the ones that remained – gleam, rather dimly through the darkness and rust, and made everything feel... warm. No, that wasn't quite the word. Or maybe it was, since he was so used to the cool touch of the little winter spirit, of his cool hands and – oh, he was getting off track. He just wanted Jack to come back! And soon. He was sick of looking at these awful lights, knowing they made his home look peaceful, but he couldn't tear his gaze off them. He had nothing better to do but watch them flicker and dull and see one or two occasionally snuff out entirely but it wasn't enough. No, he wanted them to go out o become black, as black as his darling little Fearlings. He wanted –

"Staring at them isn't going to make them go out, you know."

Pitch whipped around and came face to face the bright-eyed, smiling child who looked a whole lot cheerier than when he had left. Ice clung to his hair and frost dusted his cheeks and snow covered his clothes; it was clear he'd just flown through a snowstorm or blizzard. He took no noticed, of course. He never did. Pitch couldn't help but feel the anxious feeling lift off his chest and his sneer melted into a calm smile. "I know." He took a small step closer. "Welcome home."

He never said 'welcome back'; he knew saying 'welcome home' would widen the teen's grin and his eyes sparkle with adoration and devotion and love. Because each time he said those two words, it reminded Jack that he now most certainly had a home. And that was very precious to him. "Thanks."He beamed happily, brushing his hoodie off with his free hand.

"You are completely covered in snow." Pitch lifted a hand to comb through the white mess on top of Jack's head. The ice melted at his touch, leaving his fingers dripping with water.

Jack chuckled and leaned into the touch. "Aha, yeah. I came in through the entrance near the Himalayas so..." he trailed off, shrugging. Pitch hummed half-heartedly, lowering his hand to cup Jack's icy cheek. He could only hold it there for a few moments before Jack stepped back and cleared his throat. "I'm going to back to the library."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm still reading _It_. I'm nearly finished." He said it proudly, expecting a praise for his efforts.

Instead, Pitch frowned scornfully. So that's how it was going to be? Jack would rather read a book about a monster than physically spend time with the monster who, well, who saved him? Saved him from his insufferable loneliness. From those pathetic heroes of the children that abandoned him. From the heartless Man in the Moon that didn't even shine brighter for him. From himself. How absolutely selfish. Pitch was not going to stand for it. He'd leave the child to his book and soon – not long after he finished reading the final page – he be _begging_ Pitch to spend some time with him. Because he'd have nothing left to do. Pitch was waiting for that moment. "Fine. Go. Finish your book." He turned sharply on his heel and began to walk down the steps.

Jack followed. "Hey, are you upset or something?"

"Why would I be?" The Bogeyman looked straight ahead. Unsatisfied with that answer, Jack jumped in front of him, blocking the path. "Move."

"No. Tell me what's wrong."

"I said _move_." Pitch hissed lowly.

The teen stepped aside, letting the Nightmare King stalk past him again. He idly wondered if he should follow again but decided against it. They hadn't had much fights lately – that meant close to no abuse or neglect inflicted towards Jack – and he wanted to keep it that way for as long as he could. Finally, Jack just sped back to the library to become immersed once more.

Pitch began to wander around aimlessly as he waited for Jack to finish the book.

He waited.

And waited.

...And waited.

For the love of the Moon, that child's a slow reader! Was he honestly not finished yet?

Pitch couldn't take it anymore. No, he needed to calm down. It was just a book. Just a book. A book that Jack was so completely absorbed in and he was terrified and excited and on the edge of seat. Pitch didn't even find the book to be scary. Then again, little did scare him – carefully notice how he didn't say he was fearless because it wasn't entirely true. Some things did frighten him. Losing Jack was definitely one of them. Of course, he obviously couldn't lose the child to a book – after all it was just a book – and the very though made him scoff.

He continued to pace about. He felt something deep in his chest, like a dull fire and as the flames rose they sparked anger. Was it jealousy? Jealousy of what? A book? No, it was just a book? Maybe it was over the fact that Jack chose to read about fictional monsters with fascination and not be at all interested at what the Bogeyman could do. Pitch felt so offended. But it was just a book. But Jack didn't find him interesting. No, he just liked the book. But he was ignoring him.

That though made him stop moving all together, his breathing hitching in his throat.

Jack was ignoring him.

Not purposely but still ignoring him all the same. Oh, it hurt him more than he though it ever could. Like a stab to the stomach with a dull, rusty knife. No. No, no, no. Jack wasn't ignoring him. He couldn't be.

_Maybe you deserve it_, a voice snarled in Pitch's mind, you _ignore _him_ all the time_.

He had to admit that was true. And he did it purposely too. Another one of sick and twisted mind games. Another way to tip Jack over the edge and then dominantly lure him back in. But only just. He was a cruel man, after all. And fear and torture and abuse pleased him. Ignoring was simple because it something he could do without even touching the child. It made Jack sob and scream and shake with fear and loneliness. It made him throw himself at the Nightmare King's feet and beg for forgiveness. It clouded his mind and he would blindly do anything if it meant Pitch would stop ignoring him. It burnt him right down to the core and made him want to tear his heart out so he would just stop _feeling_.

And now Pitch knew exactly how that felt. It was horrible. An atrocious act of wickedness that shouldn't be forgiven but always was. Part of him smiled because of how awful it felt and how he could so easily make another feel this way. But most of him felt faint and sick. He was torn. He wanted to smoother Jack in his arms and plead to no longer be ignored. But that was hardly the actions of king. His mood was so sour that he contemplated on taking that book and ripping it to shreds or better yet, beating the child with it until he was bruised and bloody. Oh, but those weren't the actions of a lover.

So what was there left to do but force Jack to see him and notice him and pay attention to him? It was only plausible idea he could think of. Okay, maybe that wasn't true. The voice in the back of his mind warned him to just see reason and _wait_. But that was the part that was buried away, the one filled with remorse and regret; the voice he never, under any circumstances, listened to.

Surrounding himself in the darkness, he silently travelled to his library. He found Jack sitting on his old armchair – yes, on his black and gold armchair that was far more comfortable than his throne – completely absorbed in the novel. A candle had been lit and was sitting on the small end table next to him. Oh. Jack couldn't read in the dark like he could. In fact, he lit candles all the time and Pitch still didn't know where he got them from or where he was hiding them.

Pitch stepped into the glowing orange light and sauntered towards Jack. "Hello, precious." He tried not to sound too distressed or desperate.

Jack barely flicked his eyes up to meet the older man's gaze. "Hey." He murmured. "What's up?"

Pitch frowned. Not the reaction he was expecting. He pictured Jack to toss the book to the floor and throws his arms around him and kiss him until his grey lips turned numb with the cold. But no, Jack eyes were glued to the pages. "How's the book?"

"Great! Super scary." Jack smiled but still didn't look up.

Pitch pursed his lips. This definitely wasn't going as planned; Jack still wasn't paying attention to him. He swallowed thickly and didn't think about how easily it would be to pry the novel – the thick, hardcover edition novel – and thrash the child over the head with it. "Do you mind if I sit with you?" he asked, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"Why don't you sit in that chair?" The teen gestured to the other armchair that was on the other side of the room.

"Because," Pitch said through his teeth, "I want to sit in _my _chair."

This time, Jack did look up and he frowned. "Okay, sorry." He stood up, closing his book.

Pitch moved to sit down, pulling Jack down onto his lap. Jack shifted, resting his back against the older man's chest. He then opened his book and proceeded to read once again. Pitch gritted his teeth and clenched his hand tightly. It wasn't working. He needed to change the mood. The voice screamed that he was just being ridiculous but he continued to ignore it. Unclenching his hand, he began to brush though Jack's pallid hair. "You never told me how the weather actually turned out."

"Hmm? Oh. Well, pretty good, actually. I made some great blizzards today." Jack said proudly, craning his neck to meet his lover's gaze as he turned the page.

"Well done, pet." Pitch praised, squeezing his waist tightly.

Jack nodded vaguely. "What did you do today?" he asked indifferently.

"Not an awful lot. I missed my little plaything." The Bogeyman crooned, voice low and seductive. "I was so lonely." It was true. Very true.

"Oh?" Jack hummed, brow furrowing slightly.

Pitch hands slipped under Jack's jumper and roamed over the smooth skin. Jack moaned softly, closing his eyes. "Pitch, I'm trying to read." He complained.

Pitch flicked his wrist. A shadow slunk up to the candle and snuffed out the flame. "Now you're not." He smirked, dipping his head down to Jack's neck. His teeth gazed over the wonderfully cold flesh. He knew just how to turn Jack on.

"Stop it."

Only it wasn't working. Damn. Angrily, he bit down hard, drawing blood. _That_ got Jack's attention. He cried out in pain and began to writhe. "That hurt!"

"I know." Pitch growled as his hands lowered to rest on Jack's hips.

The winter spirit cringed and tried to stand up. "You know what? I think _I'll_ sit in the other armchair so I can actually read."

"You'll do no such thing." Pitch ripped the book from Jack's smaller hands and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a loud smack.

Jack gasped. Thankfully – well, to Jack anyway – it was fine but the wall had a small mark on it. "Why did you do that?" He shouted.

"Don't shout at me." Pitch murmured against his neck. "Just come to bed with me. It will be worth your while, I promise."

Jack took a deep breath, ignoring the delicious contrast of heat that was slowly pooling in the bottom of his stomach. "Seriously... not in the... mood." He sighed, opening his eyes.

Pitch growled. "Are you forgetting who you're talking to?" He hissed. "You are mine to use when I desire – whether you are willing or not."

Jack flinched at that. He spun around and sat up so he was facing Pitch, his knees on the other man's thighs but reminded silent for a while. Those words stung. They were true but they still hurt nonetheless. "Just one more chapter?" He finally begged.

The older man didn't look impressed. "Jack..." he warned.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry. I am..." he paused, "willing. I just –,"

Pitch didn't let him finish before crashing his lips against Jack's own. Jack closed his eyes wrapped his arms around Pitch's neck. The Bogeyman eagerly pulled Jack closer, snaking one hand around his waist while the other cupped his rear. Jack giggled at the touch, giving Pitch the perfect opportunity to force his tongue into the teen's mouth. He was rough but Jack didn't expect any less. His long, sharp fingers dug painfully into his side and his mouth felt bruised and swollen but everything else felt so good.

Eventually Pitch leaned back and Jack gasped for air. The arousal sat thickly in the air. Pitch licked the frost off his lips with a smirk. "Care to finish this in the bedroom?" He already knew what the answer was.

"Yes, please." Jack moaned.

Pitch grinned in triumph. Jack was very easy to persuade. This was _nothing_ compared to what they were going to be doing in a moment. The Nightmare King tightened his grip on Jack once more as he gracefully sunk into the shadows with the child in his arms.

* * *

Pitch was rather pleased with himself when he woke. He remembered how much Jack pleaded to be touched, moaned loudly and screamed in pleasure. Every noise that came out of the teen's mouth was so perfectly luscious and delightful. He knew just where to touch Jack – knew just what to say – to make him throw his head back in bliss, toes curled, eyes squeezed shut. It made him feel powerful; Jack was under his spell when they were in bed.

Of course, that smugness disappeared when he realised Jack wasn't in the bed with him anymore. He shot upright. There was no one next to him, no clothes strewn carelessly on the floor. His staff was there but that was all. Pitch snarled furiously as his climbed out of bed. That little brat was asking for it now. The shadows wrapped around his body smoothly, forming his inky pants and robe. He was going to rip every single page out of that book. No, he'd feed it to his Nightmares. But first, he was going to rip Jack's throat out.

It was just a book! A book! There was nothing special about it – except for the fact that it was signed by the author. It drove Pitch insane. Why was Jack so drawn to it? Why? It made no sense in Pitch's mind. Jack shouldn't pay attention to anything but him. He should devote every waking moment to the Bogeyman. That nagging voice told him it was ludicrous but he hardly listened.

He ghosted to the library in a silent rage. Sure enough, Jack was there yet again. Only this time, he wasn't in the chair, he was huddled in the corner; where Pitch had thrown the book, with a candle next to him for light. Was he that keen on finishing it that he was just going to sit where he found it? The answer was obvious. And Pitch didn't like how interested Jack looked as he turned the page. He emerged from the dark to stand in front of Jack. The teen jumped, a small gasp escaping his lips. "Oh! Oh, hey..." he took a deep breath, composing himself. "Uh, what's up?" He stood up, the book held tightly in his arms.

He barely had a chance to react or even defend himself when the back of Pitch's hand cracked against his cheek with a dangerous force. Jack stumbled slightly, leaning against the wall for support. He blinked but didn't dare made a sound.

"You selfish child!" Pitch shrieked.

Jack's brow furrowed. "What did I do?" He did he best to sound strong and ignore the swelling pain in his cheek.

"You know perfectly well what you did!"

"All I know is I've done something to piss you off." Jack muttered, holding his book closer to his chest.

Pitch eyed the book. "What is so interesting about that book?"

"It's a good book. You said it yourself."

He made a reach of the novel but Jack stepped to the side. Narrowing his eyes, he moved swifter, managing to catch hold of the book. Jack's face portrayed alarm and he held onto the book for dear life. But he wasn't strong enough – and he was stupid enough to leave his staff in the freaking bedroom – and Pitch was pulling it out of his grip. They were grabbing either side of the cover and tugging fiercely.

Suddenly the spine ripped and the book burst apart in a flurry of pages. They danced to the floor like snowflakes as Pitch and Jack held the covers in their hands. The teen viciously glared at Pitch and threw the broken cover at the man. "You jerk!"

Pitch hardly flinched as the cover hit him. "This is your own fault, pet."

"I was nearly finished!" Jack exploded. "Now I can't even return it." He kicked the pages on the ground.

"It serves you right for choosing the internal book over me."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Wait, what? Choosing the book..." He began to laugh despite his anger. "Oh, man! You're jealous? Of a book?" His chortles died away when he the murderous look on the Bogeyman's face. "You... you really are jealous."

Pitch clenched his jaw. "No." He forced through his teeth. "I just don't understand why you are," he paused, "_were_ so engrossed by the novel."

"You read books all the time." Jack reminded. "Why can't I?"

"Because you were ignoring me."

Oh, dear. That sounded so pathetic. Still, it made the child's face crinkled in confusion. Then his eyes lit up with realisation and he smiled softly. "You're really silly, you know that?"

"I am not." Pitch didn't meet Jack's comforting gaze. Instead, he focused on the bruise that was forming on his pale cheek. It fuelled his anger and reminded him why he was angry and why the bruise was there in the first place. If he met Jack's beautiful eyes – full of sorrow and forgiveness – he wouldn't be able to stay angry.

"Yes, you are." Jack continued. "You're assuming that just because I'm interested in something else, I'm not paying attention to you."

"It seems to me that it's true." The older man grumbled.

Jack chuckled. "You know you're wrong. I'd never do that to you." He faltered. "Even if you, heh, do it to me all the time."

Pitch had to look into his eyes then. He saw all the emotions – hurt, comfort, even playfulness, so many gorgeous emotions – and the blue began to sooth him. His shoulders slumped and he pinched the bridge of his nose with his slender fingers. "I never realised how much it hurt." No, hurt wasn't the right word.

"Look," Jack sighed, "I get it; you hated the feeling of being ignored. I know how much it... Anyway, I'm sorry."

It was wrong. So very wrong. Jack knew he shouldn't be apologising. It wasn't his fault. They both knew it. Pitch should be the one apologising, pulling Jack in his arms and reciting the end of the book – he could remember it perfectly – then he'd kiss Jack's nose because he knew the teen loved it and they could put the mess behind them. Brush it away with all the discarded pages around them.

That just would not happen.

"You're forgiven."

Jack nodded. "It was just a book." He whispered, so quietly Pitch thought he'd only imagined it.

Pitch opened his arms, offering an embrace. Jack didn't waste any time flinging himself into his lover's arms. The Bogeyman squeezed his eyes shut. If he pretended hard enough, he could act like nothing was wrong. They were just two lovers forgiving each other after a little quarrel. It wasn't wrong or unbiased or sick. They were just two lovers fighting over a book. It didn't mean any more than that. Just two lovers and a book. Just two lovers. Just...

Oh, he could lie to himself all night long; he could lie to Jack forever.

It was just a book, really. That wasn't a lie. Personally signed by the author but still, just a book. But they were so much more than two lovers fighting over it. Yes, it was fascinating but not _that_ fascinating. It was just a book. Repeat that mantra over and over. No matter how engrossing. He used to like the story but he hated it now. The book had made him feel lonely. No! It was Jack; he had unintentionally ignored – oh, that foul word still made Pitch cringe – the older man. But Pitch would rather blame the book than his frosted teen.

He knew an apology on his side was in order. It really was his fault. He had deluded himself into thinking Jack was doing it on purpose. The voice in his mind laughed triumphantly but he still didn't listen. Loneliness truly was dangerous. They both knew it. It had very nearly driven them to complete insanity – though one could argue about how sane either one of them actually were. Pitch pondered over how he could make it up to Jack. He glanced down at the cascade of paper around them and was struck with an idea. It was perfect. Sheer brilliance. Never expect less from the Nightmare King; because although he was a cruel man, he was also a brilliant one.

* * *

**Epilogue**

"Keep your eyes closed, precious. No peeking!"

"Alright, alright! Jeez." Jack would have rolled his eyes if they weren't closed. "What is it?"

"Hold your hands out." Pitch ordered.

Jack did so, grinning excitedly. He loved gifts. He loved the thought of someone – well, only Pitch – wanting to give him a present. It just made him feel so cherished.

The Nightmare King grinned back though Jack couldn't see and placed the gift in the child's waiting hands. "Open your eyes."

Jack's eyelids fluttered open and his glanced down at what was in hands. His mouth dropped open, forming a small 'o'.

It wasn't the same book. This one was a paperback and there was a different picture on the cover. Slowly, Jack flicked through the pages and stopped at the front, noticing the author's signature. "How did you get this?" His voice didn't rise about a whispered.

"Hmm, the Bogeyman works in mysterious ways. Stephen King may be a famous horror writer but I am the master of fear, I can scare anyone into doing anything."

Jack chuckled. "I love it." He looked at the signature again and saw that one the opposite page, there was something written in elegant handwriting.

_Jack_  
_Every page is full of empty words when compared to you_  
_You are far more engrossing than any novel I've ever read._  
_If you are not near me, mere books will never do_  
_I will never read again if I can be with you instead_

"That's beautiful." Jack swallowed thickly. "I don't know what to say."

Pitch shrugged. "Say nothing. It's an apology of sorts. Keep the book and know each word of what I wrote is true."

Jack just nodded and smiled like a child on Christmas. His face faltered for a moment. "Um, can I go read the ending?"

"Well..." Pitch pursed his lips. He couldn't say no. It was just ruin everything, make his apology futile. "Yes, go ahead."

The child's face lit up once more and took a few leaps towards the library. He turned back. "Aren't you coming?"

"Why?"

"So I don't get lonely. I don't want to sit in the library all by myself. It's dark in there."

"How about just read you the ending myself?" Pith offered.

"Excellent idea, lover." Jack took another leap. "I'll meet you in there?"

"Of course, darling child." The Bogeyman faded into the black shadows.

And they spent the rest of the day reading – with many interruptions from Jack – because the book really was engrossing but the lovers were far more engrossed in each other. Their passion stronger than any words could explain, any story would tell.

Their relationship – the ups and the downs, the good and the bad, the abuse and the love – would make a rather engrossing novel, don't you think?

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Finally done! I really hoped you liked that. Please review. It will help me sleep.


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